


Life After Love

by AuthenticSouthern



Series: Inquisitor Mira Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crushes, F/M, Falling In Love, Heartache, Heartbreak, Love, Romance, Slow Romance, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthenticSouthern/pseuds/AuthenticSouthern
Summary: The young Inquisitor Mira Lavellan must learn to live without the first person she ever loved. Her heart heals, thanks to her dear friends, and she is able to find love with another member of the Inquisition.**After Solas has left, before Trespasser.**





	1. Loss

He had promised. He promised an explanation. They had miraculously survived and now she was owed her explanation. Her mind raced, tripping over each thought each time she tried to figure out this puzzle. Nothing made sense.

How could he disappear? Could he not spare a moment of joy? Why did he run from her? The orb was important, of course, but more important than…? 

_What was she missing?_

###

At first, her ears perked at each mention of Solas. If an unknown elf or apostate was sighted, her heart skipped a beat in anticipation. She would prod Leliana for information. She poured over his murals, hoping to find some secret that had been missed. Outside of Skyhold, she revisited ancient elven artifacts and battlefields, hoping to see his familiar face. At night, she sought him in her dreams.

Nothing.

As the weeks passed, the Inquisitor searched for signs of Solas less and less. Finally, she stopped. The ache in her heart gave way to anger and regret. She funneled her quiet fury into closing the rifts, helping the helpless. Hitting things. _Hard_. 

Cassandra offered to teach her how to swing a sword. Hitting the dummies became a wonderful stress relief. When she felt comfortable, she asked for a shield, too, and a sparring partner. It was a delightful, much needed distraction. She tackled her new hobby passionately, reveling in her successes with a cheeky grin. 

Indeed, the elf’s absence had a ripple effect with the Inquisitor’s inner circle as they all moved in to comfort their young leader. The fresh-faced, straight-laced Inquisitor began to unwind as she experienced life after love. Without the all-too-serious apostate clicking his tongue in disapproval, Sera finally convinced Lavellan to join in a few harmless pranks. When their target got drenched, it was the loudest the Inquisitor had laughed in ages. Games of Wicked Grace reigned and the Inquisitor finally accepted Dorian’s open invitation for drinks. 

Finally – _finally_ , anger gave way to acceptance. Her inner circle breathed a collective sigh of relief, glad to see her on the path of recovery.


	2. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Lavellan continues to mend her broken heart. It is a slow healing process, but she is learning. Thankfully, she had good friends and Cole is there to help, in his own delightful and quiet way.

Her eyes were red and swollen. It had been some time since she had cried. The Inquisitor laid in bed as she caught her breath. Her aching heart still pounded in her chest. She tried to calm herself, collect her thoughts. 

It had been a simple, off-hand comment. Just a careless word of phrase. They hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings. And yet… Something about what was said had triggered her. Maybe it was the fact that she had not heard _his_ name aloud in so long. The thought brought a fresh wave of heartache and she felt a pang once more in her chest.

After quite some time, she sat up to find a large pail of paint next to her bed. Lavellan frowned for a moment. Then it dawned on her – Cole. But… She couldn’t... _Could_ she? 

She pursed her lips, twiddled her thumbs. Surely, she couldn’t _actually_ … 

“Well, if he had _truly_ cared at all, he would have stayed, wouldn’t he?” She said softly to herself. “If he had truly cared, he would have at least explained himself,” Her voice grew bitter. 

But he didn’t. No. He ran. He was a coward who could not face her. Could not explain his reasons. Could not even say good bye. He would sooner leave her without a word. Leave her alone to wonder why. Why would he leave? What had she done wrong? Did he ever truly love her?

She grabbed the pail.

###

Painting - it was wonderfully therapeutic. With each brush stroke, her mind cleared and her heart was calmed. She had started slowly, cautiously. Within moments, she grew bolder. Empowered. She began to grin as she haphazardly used too much paint, taking pleasure in the thick _splat_ of the overloaded brush. She began to hum an old Dalish melody, a cheerful tune that had not crossed her mind in years. Her toes tapped as her brush danced in time with the song. 

Soon, she was singing – _actually_ singing. Her gentle alto voice caught more than a few ears, but for once, the attention did not concern her. 

Dorian, previously agitated at the foul paint smell, now smiled as he leaned on the railing and watched his dear friend. How _good_ it was to see her spirits lifted. She was due every ounce of happiness. 

The Inquisitor’s song carried all the way up to Leliana, who had a vague understanding of the tune thanks to the Hero of Fereldan, and she hummed along almost silently as she worked from her desk. 

Varric heard and made a mental note: he would have to learn a little Dalish to write this story. He would surely write in a damned good happy ending. She deserved it.

Cole sat on top of the scaffolding, unnoticed by all. He could feel the Inquisitor’s joy, the weight lifted off her chest. The words of her song were crystal clear to him – good words. Happy words. 

He was very pleased to have helped.

###

Done. Thank the gods.

The sun was setting. Her clothes, hair, and hands were speckled with paint. She felt a wave of accomplishment as she admired her work.

The murals were gone. 

The last trace of _him_ was wiped from Skyhold. It felt like she had finally been able to turn the page in this chapter of her life. She could start anew. He would never be fully erased from memory – a part of her would always long for him – but she did not need a constant reminder of what was now lost.

She felt at peace.

And tomorrow… 

Tomorrow she would paint her _own_ story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly enough, this was therapeutic. Years ago, I had to deal with someone who supposedly loved me leaving without a word or explanation. It took a lot of healing and I have a lot of feelings about that concept of leaving like that... My feelings towards Solas are not pleasant.
> 
> I want this Inquisitor to grow, heal, and flourish. We'll see if I add more to her story.


	3. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Lavellan joins Dorian and the Iron Bull in the tavern and gets drunk for the first time in her young life.

“Do you miss it, your vallaslin?” Dorian inquired gently. He saw how gingerly she had examined her reflection earlier. He had never mentioned it before, in fact no one did, but the look on her face prompted him.

The Inquisitor hesitated for a moment before answering, “Do you know the process? What they _truly_ mean to the Dalish?”

He shook his head silently. No quip, no sarcasm. It was unlike Dorian to walk on eggshells around her.

She continued: “I received mine when I was eighteen – it is a coming of age tradition. The ink itself is…” She hesitated, not exactly sure how she felt about the markings now that she knew the truth. “It is _considered_ sacred. Before we can receive our markings, we must first meditate on the gods and what it means to be Dalish. When it is applied, we must be absolutely silent – no matter the pain. If you cry out, it is seen as a weakness and you are not ready to undertake the responsibilities of an adult.”

Lavellan paused to take a sip of her drink, “I was _so proud_ …” She trailed off.

“We’re talking vallaslin? They’re slave markings, right?” Bull chimed in, taking a seat at the bar on the other side of the Inquisitor. 

Dorian glared at him over the Inquisitor’s narrow frame. 

“ _What_?” 

“According to _some_ , at least,” Lavellan said. She took another swig of her drink. 

“Bah!” Bull scoffed, “And what does _he_ know?” 

Several months ago, she would have defended him with a huff and a superiority complex. She would have eagerly defended the dashing rogue apostate who had a seemingly infinite knowledge both of the Fade and all that is elven. And although she still quietly believed the vastness of his intellect, she was nearly finished with her second (or third?) ale and feeling empowered. 

“He doesn’t know _shit_!” She exclaimed, much to the surprise of her company. 

Bull let out a deep belly laugh, nearly spilling his drink. Dorian’s eyes widened and twinkled with delight at the Inquisitor’s choice of words: “Tsk, tsk. Such language, Mira!” 

Eager to change the topic, the Inquisitor directed the conversation towards the Chargers. As Bull began to proudly boast about his men, Lavellan finished her drink and listened as intently as she could as her head began to spin. It was a delightful little stupor, though she felt exceedingly sleepy… 

### 

“I think it’s time for bed,” Dorian noted wryly. “I believe our dear Inquisitor has had quite enough." 

The Inquisitor lifted her head from the bar counter and groaned, “Yes – I think I may have overdone myself.” 

“Easy now, let’s get you up,” He said, slipping his arm around her waist. “Hold my shoulders now – ah, watch out for Bull.” 

She stood up and her legs nearly buckled beneath her. “By the Dread Wolf,” She muttered. 

“Here now – watch out,” Dorian said, helping her to step over Bull’s hulking body on the floor. “Careful – steady now.” 

Just before the two reached Skyhold’s staircase, they heard a voice: “Maker’s Breath!” 

Lavellan flushed and cursed in her native tongue. She was sober enough to realize she did _not_ want her advisors of all people to see her in such a shameful condition. 

A flustered Commander Cullen approached them, “Dorian! What are you doing?” 

“What does it look like, Commander?” Dorian grinned. “The poor dear is a lightweight – can’t blame her, really…” 

Cullen wrinkled his nose, “You’re nearly as drunk as she is. I can smell the ale from here!” 

“I am not drunk,” Lavellan said pointedly. She straightened her posture as if that would prove her sobriety. 

“See? Certainly not drunk,” Dorian said sarcastically with a sloppy grin. 

Cullen was not convinced. His tone was rather cross: “It’s the blind leading the blind. I will not have a _drunkard_ carry the Inquisitor up the stairs! If she were to fall – !” 

“Alright, alright,” Dorian said, throwing his free hand up in defeat. “ _You_ take the Inquisitor up to her room.” 

For a moment, Cullen was left speechless as a red tinge colored his cheeks. 

“That will not be necessary,” Lavellan intervened, speaking slowly in order to enunciate better. “Dorian is _perfectly capable_ …” Even as the words left her lips, she doubted them. Although he held his liquor quite well, he was by no means sober and his ability to climb stairs was certainly in question. 

“Absolutely not,” Cullen said firmly, his tone was firm, but not as cross. “Why don’t you go sober up at the tavern, Dorian.” 

With a sly grin and a shrug, Dorian patted the Inquisitor on the back and relinquished the stumbling elf to the Commander. 

“Good night,” He said with a wink. Cullen nodded goodbye, pursing his lips. 

“Let’s get you up these stairs, then,” He said and gingerly propped her upright. Too tall to wrap her arm around his shoulders, she slipped it around his waist. It was, physically, the closest she had ever come to her Commander. An awkward position for her to be in, of course, but not all together unpleasant. 

Upon feeling the softness of his clothing, she could not help herself: “Commander. You’re dressed _down_?” She said with a giggle. 

He avoided her eyes – an easy task when you’re a head taller – and lead her to the steps. “I’m not _always_ in full plate armor, Inquisitor,” he noted. 

“I do rather like your feathery thing,” Lavellan said softly, attempting to hold back another giggle. 

“Well then it is a shame I’m not wearing it.” 

Did she detect a hint of playfulness in the serious Commander? She was not accustomed to seeing him outside of the War Room or brooding over his desk. In plain clothes. She had never noticed the muscle definition in his arms before. His sleeves were rolled up just past his elbows and… Lavellan shook her head. She would not start swooning over her Commander. The ale had not been _that_ strong. Although it took a significant amount of self-control not to let her fingers explore his back – just a little bit. 

Finally at the top of the stairs, Cullen asked hesitantly, “Can you make it to your room?” 

“I think so…” 

“Excellent.” 

“Although there _are_ more stairs.” 

“Of course.” 

Now on a flat surface, she was able to steady herself and she pulled away from the Commander as they walked across the main hall. The world had slowed down spinning enough and Lavellan was able to muster up enough willpower to walk unassisted across the room, though her Commander watched her with a wary eye. 

“Cullen,” She sighed. “ _Ir abelas_ – I’m sorry. I do appreciate this and I whole-heartedly apologize for any inconvenience – “ 

He cut her off with a raised hand and a grin, “Inquisitor, _you_ of all people do not need to apologize for enjoying a night at the tavern.” 

“Please, call me Mira – no one else does,” She said with a chuckle. 

“Of course… Mira.” 

### 

Cullen had barely stepped a foot into her room before acknowledging that she had safely arrived to her destination and ducking out as quickly as possible. The Inquisitor had nearly fallen into bed, glad to be among the soft blankets once more. She laid there for a few moments, her thoughts muddled now more by exhaustion than ale. As she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts remained on her Commander – his pleasant scent, the warmth of his touch. 

It made for _very_ sweet dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the details about that vallaslin are thanks to the Dragon Age Wiki. I honestly knew very little about them, but my Inquisitor is mourning the loss a bit, so I wanted to include it.
> 
> Also, I finally gave my Inquisitor a first name. I was originally going to leave it vague, but I changed my mind.


	4. Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor awkwardly apologizes (again) for getting drunk and Cullen's assistance. Dorian is well aware that his dearest friend has a crush on the Commander. He is tired of neither one of them making the first move.

Rumor of the Inquisitor's night of drinking had spread – _Did you hear? It was the first time she tried ale! The poor thing never had a chance._ – and it was now common knowledge that the dashing Commander had assisted her back to her room. How terribly scandalous. To avoid further wagging tongues, Mira had tried her best to avoid Cullen's presence. 

After much deliberation, she finally gathered enough courage to speak with him about the incident. She stood up straight, took a deep breath, and entered his office to find him hunched over at his desk, studying papers.

"Inquisitor," He stood up out of habit.

She spoke the overly-rehearsed words quickly, rushed it out before she could second guess herself: "Commander, I wanted to properly apologize for my inebriated state the other night and for anything that I may have said. I appreciate your assistance in the matter and fully apologize for any inappropriate gossip that may have spawned from – "

It was then that she noticed a slight, barely noticeable grin on his face. She flushed crimson: "I don't see how you could _possibly_ find this even remotely amusing."

The grin was replaced with a look of mild horror as his cheeks began to match hers, "Inquisitor, I – I didn't mean – I never intended to offend. I'm sorry."

"If I had realized the gossip… I would have never put you in that situation intentionally," She said bashfully.

"Of course," He said swiftly and then scoffed: "I'm not offended by idle gossip."

"Ah. Good."

"Does it bother _you_?" He asked with concern. "I will put my foot down immediately, if – "

Somehow she managed to feel even _more_ embarrassed now. "It's fine. I can deal with a few wagging tongues. It's all… _unfounded_ , anyways."

"Yes, that's true," He said with some relief. 

"Excellent," She said awkwardly. "Glad we're on the same page."

###

" _Unfounded_?" Dorian repeated skeptically.

"Shh – your voice carries, _Pavus_ ," She shushed him. 

He raised and eyebrow, but could not suppress a cheeky grin. The use of his surname was always reserved for gentle scoldings.

"When I suggested you speak with our Commander, it was with the intent that you _finally_ confess your feelings for him, Inquisitor!" He said. "I didn't mean for you to unnecessarily _apologize_ – again – for that night."

"You are in _no_ place to talk about admitting feelings," She said in an attempt to sidestep the issue. "If I remember correctly, Bull was the one to initiate everything…"

"Yes, but I did – "

" _Please_ don't say you took the bull by the horns again," She groaned.

He smirked, "Regardless, it's time you stop pining."

"He is the _Commander_ – I am the Inquisitor!" She fumbled through her words. " _Feelings_ , indeed! I don't know who gave you that idea – !"

" _You did_ , my dear," He crossed his arms. "And it's about time you acted on it. You deserve happiness."

Lavellan sighed and opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. She was well aware that she had been found out. She could only deny it for so long. It had become habit to deny her feelings to herself – it would be more difficult to hide them from her closest friend. He was a persistent bastard.

"Besides, it's obvious that he returns the affection."

"… Is it?" She leaned in and pursed her lips.

Dorian rolled his eyes in exasperation, "Your skills of observation never fail to astound me. It's nothing short of a miracle that you managed to stop Corypheus."

The Inquisitor bit her lip in thought.

" _You_ know it. _He_ knows it," Dorian said firmly. He ignored her wide eyed look intrigued disbelief easily. "Half the Inquisition knows it. Maker's breath – it's not that difficult!"

Mira groaned and said two words that she always loathed to say to Dorian: "You're right."

He instantly perked up, "Of course I'm right!"

"I _really_ like Cullen," She winced slightly. It was painful to admit. It seemed so frivolous! She was the Inquisitor – she should not have a crush on her Commander. She sounded like a child. How terribly embarrassing. At the same time, it was a weight lifted off her to finally tell someone. Even if he already knew. 

She sighed, "It was just… _easier_ with Solas."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, "Easier? Because he's an elf?"

"That's part of it," She nodded. "I was so young – I didn't know anything about the world outside my clan. And he… He was always glad to teach me. He relished every question I had. He never seemed to fumble with words. He said exactly what was on his mind – he never strayed from… You know… _Pursuing_ me."

"Ah. And Cullen has made no such advances." He brought his hand to his chin in thought. "Interesting…."

Lavellan frowned, not pleased with the devilish gleam in her friend's eyes. "Whatever you're planning… Don't."

He looked at her with wide eyes and feigned shock. "Me? Planning something? Don't worry your pretty little head with such notions, my dear."

"By the Dread Wolf… "


	5. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is tired of the obvious tension between Cullen and the Inquisitor. Somebody needs to make a move! So he prods Cullen along in order to help his best friend find love again.

Dorian grinned as he moved his bishop into place. “Check,” He said smugly. “Are you distracted, hm?”

Cullen furrowed his brow, studied the board briefly, and made his move. “Of course not,” He replied.

“You’re trying to protect your queen,” Dorian said coyly. “But it has made you lose sight of your game. You can’t win this way. _Check_.”

His tone and inflection was not lost to Cullen. In the past several days, the mage had not been subtle in his hints about the Inquisitor. He was certain a _very specific_ conversation was on the horizon, leading Cullen to cut short his interactions with the cheeky Tevinter. Finally, after much convincing, the persistent bastard successfully scheduled a good-natured game of chess. The Commander was beginning to regret that decision.

“You are short-sighted,” Cullen said coolly, ignoring all implications. He made his move.

“You’re just delaying your eventual loss.”

“The game isn’t over yet.”

“You’ve got to play the offense if you want to win,” Dorian quipped. “But you aren’t _playing_ , are you? You’re running away. Check.”

The Commander sneered and claimed Dorian’s rook.

“Ah, good,” Dorian said with a grin. “That’s the spirit – show some _passion_.”

Cullen ignored him, turning his focus entirely to the game at hand.

“Cullen,” Dorian sighed and dropped all amount of subtlety. He had finally grown weary of the charade. “Protecting the Inquisitor is a noble sentiment, but never forget that she carries the strength of nations on her shoulders. You cannot break her.”

He met Dorian’s intense gaze with some confusion.

The mage made his final move and exclaimed cheerfully: “A- _ha_! Checkmate.”

How had the Commander missed such an obvious play?

“You might hurt her, of course. That’s entirely possible. In fact, _terribly_ plausible in your case,” Dorian said matter-of-factly. “But you cannot break her. She is the Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition, defeater of Corypheus. And she is head over proverbial heels for you, Commander. I suggest you stop running and _act_.”

Cullen was silent for a moment. Somehow Dorian managed to be… strangely comforting. It was not a something either of them was accustomed to. He _had_ , in fact, been concerned with hurting Mira. After all, he had been there when Solas left her heart in a thousand pieces.

“That _is_ it, is it not?” Dorian said plainly, filling the silence. “Ah,” He realized. “That’s not all!”

“I think we’re quite done here,” Cullen finally said, flustered. This conversation had gone on long enough. If he wished to discuss his personal life, he would have done so.

“You don’t believe yourself worthy,” Dorian said pointedly. “That you’re beneath her.”

The Commander pursed his lips in mild frustration and stood to leave, but Dorian was a quick talker.

“And you’re absolutely right, my dear Commander,” the mage said with a wicked grin. “Luckily for you, she just hasn’t realize that yet.”

“Yes, thank you,” Cullen said with bitter sarcasm.

“Now, now,” Dorian said, still lounged comfortably in his seat. “Rarely are we ever good enough for the people that we love.”

A pause.

Love?

“Indeed,” The Commander said softly.

Dorian continued: “You might not think you’re good enough for Mira Lavellan, but she looks at you as if you hung the moons and stars. I suggest you not let her go so easily.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a rough draft! But I just had to post it. Gotta get it out of my system. I'll work on this later, I'm sure. Probably.


	6. Kiss

In the war room, her advisers were discussing how to best deal with bandits at one of their outposts. Tired from a late night of travel, the Inquisitor listened quietly. The three of them were deep into friendly debate – now getting side tracked onto the local nobility in the area and the political atmosphere. They paid no attention to the exhausted elf.

It was moments like these that Mira had grown to appreciate. She could relax for a moment. Nothing needed her immediate attention or action. She stood still, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Instead, her eyes lingered on her advisers. The three of them had truly become some of her closest friends, her most trusted. 

Her eyes wandered between each one of them as they spoke, but her gaze returned most frequently to the Commander. She was certain that he knew of her affection. Surely, Dorian had not been able to keep his mouth shut for _this_ long. As much as she loved that cheeky Tevinter, he drove her mad sometimes. 

_If you don’t tell him, I will,_ He had threatened.

She knew that Dorian only wanted the best for her, but he could be _insufferable_. 

Three times, she had nearly gained enough courage to speak with Cullen. Each time, she had chickened out. Too damned shy for her own good. She had faced crazed Tevinter magisters, mythical ancient elves, and Corypheus himself. Certainly she could face Cullen Rutherford. 

She hoped – _dreamed_ – that he would be the first to act. Dorian assured her that the feelings were, indeed, mutual. Whether that was factual knowledge or a hunch, she did not know.

But she hoped.

And now, she watched. The three were still distracted in conversation. Mira watched the Commander with interest. Though she attempted to keep a neutral facial expression, her large elvish eyes practically sparkled as she studied his strong jaw. He was in need of a shave. She wondered what his cheeks felt like. Rough, she supposed. Facial hair and whiskers were foreign to her. What would his cheeks feel like against hers? Would it scratch?

Her eyes trailed down to his arms, now crossed. She remembered the night – shameful as it was – that he helped her to her room. Dressed down in soft cloth, Mira had been able to feel the strength of his muscles. After that moment, her imagination had gone wild considering what lay beneath that shirt. In the time since, she found any excuse she could to touch him. Not anything overt, nothing inappropriate. Just simple touch. A hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Gently tapping his upper back partnered with “Pardon me” in passing.

Terribly distracted now, her eyes wandered back upwards. His lips. They looked so pleasantly plump. Were they soft? The scar. It _was_ rather dashing. What was the story behind it? Mira watched with heavy lids as his lips curled into a slight smile. He was – _Maker’s breath_! Her eyes suddenly widened and darted up to meet his, staring back at her. He looked quietly amused. How long had he been watching her? She had very clearly been... _admiring_ her view. And now she had been found out. By the Dread Wolf!

Feeling a surge of bravery, she did not look away. Neither did the Commander. The few moments seemed to stretch an eternity as they watched each other.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana’s voice broke the tension.

“Oh?” Lavellan turned to her and blinked.

“You _do_ agree, of course?” She replied sweetly. Too sweetly. The Inquisitor’s spymaster never missed a thing. 

Mira glanced at Josephine’s smiling face. Back to Leliana. “Yes,” She replied hesitantly. “Of course.”

Josephine clapped happily, “Good! I will start the preparations.”

Leliana and Josephine chatted as they walked out together. But Mira lingered.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen cleared his throat. “A moment?”

“Yes?” She replied too quickly. The tension, as well as her excitement, was palpable.

He stepped closer and her heart began to hammer within her chest.

“I…” He started.

_This is it. Carpe diem._

Before she had time to second guess herself, she closed the space between them. She reached out to slip her arms onto his waist, waiting for a word of protest that did not come. Instead, Cullen leaned further into her and cupped her face in his palms. Slowly, gently – he kissed her. It was just as tender and as sweet as she had imagined. And his cheeks barely scratched at all.

It didn’t take long for word to spread throughout the Inquisition that Lavellan and the Commander had finally – _finally_ – gotten together. Although it did take longer still for Mira to feel comfortable enough expressing her affection publicly. The first several weeks were full of flushed cheeks and bashful words. Soft, easy kisses were stolen quietly and quickly and hand holding was reserved for secluded areas away from prying eyes. It was apparent to all onlookers that the Inquisitor, and indeed the Commander as well, had never looked happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the best, but it's a start. I will probably edit heavily later. The two have such a sweet, gentle romance.


	7. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breakup and aftermath from the POV of Solas.

He had never intended to fall in love.

At first, they had clashed. She was a fiercely proud Dalish – one slight word against her people and the fiery redhead would give you a piece of her mind. That was the only life she knew and she defended it with vigor. In short time, however, she began to seek his advice. She began asking questions about the Fade, about the ancient elves. She sat enthralled, listening to his stories.

It was one of those times where Solas discovered his own blossoming feelings for the young elf. He was recalling a story and the young Herald listened intently, her chin rested on her palms as she leaned onto the table before her. Her amber eyes gleamed as she absorbed every word. He had already known she was lovely, but in this moment he realized how indescribably beautiful she was. This realization was not a pleasant one.

The mission must come first.

She was so focused, so intent on learning. He delighted in her eager, inquisitive nature. She asked questions, sought answers. She questioned the status quo and traditional thoughts. Mira proved to be intelligent and quick witted. Brilliant _and_ beautiful. Stimulating in more than one way.

The flirting came naturally. His words flowed easily, spilled forth from his lips before he could stop himself. Pursuing her – loving her – was against his better judgment. She was forbidden fruit. Delightfully tempting, delicious fruit. In the end, she proved too desirable to resist. With each embrace, each kiss, he knew what the ramifications would be. His feelings for her had complicated matters, but he had a duty and would not be swayed.

He had never intended to hurt her.

_Solas… Don’t leave me, not now. I love you._

_You have a rare and marvelous spirit. In another world –_

_Why not this one?_

_I can’t._

_Tell me you don’t care._

_I can’t do that._

_Tell me I was some casual dalliance so I can call you a cold hearted son of a bitch and move on!_

_I’m sorry._

_Banal’abelas, banal’vhenan!_ *

One angry outburst and that was it, she never uttered another cruel word to him. He felt it simmering beneath the surface at times, but it never again came to fruition. He would have stood silently against another verbal barrage – he deserved it – but none came.

And then – Corypheus. He very nearly claimed the Inquisitor that day. Solas had watched in horror as Mira’s blood spilled and he had proudly witnessed her determination as she mustered every last ounce of her willpower to face the ancient Tevinter. Finally, it was over. Corypheus had been defeated. What should have been a joyous moment was lost; the orb had been destroyed.

She had no idea – could not possibly fathom what it meant. He should have told her. Should have explained.

No. He could not. She would not understand.

Coward. He was a coward.

And in an instant, he was gone.

###

In the weeks that followed, it was difficult to keep his distance. Mira’s low morale was not lost to him – those of his people secretly still stationed within the Inquisition kept him up to date on all goings on. It took much of his willpower to not meet in the Fade at night. He felt an echo of her voice – he knew she sought him. She sought answers – _deserved_ them. But he could not face her. Not now. Not yet.

He steeled his heart, dug in his heels and, with an almost emotionless, mechanical approach, pressed forward to complete his mission as necessary.

In the recesses of his mind, he knew that one day she would move on. She deserved love from a man that could fully and completely dedicate himself to her. She deserved to be cherished, protected. She deserved to be put ahead of all other things in life. Solas knew he could never be that man. Not in this life.

When the news of her new relationship was brought before him, he accepted it seemingly without emotion. No surprised tone of voice, no raised eyebrow.

"Ah," He had said softly. "I see." Back to business.

In the still of the night, he grieved for what had been now truly lost. Even though it had been foreseen, his wounds reopened and his heart ached in a way he had not expected. The ache, the desire, was fresh once more. He felt… empty. 

He was alone.

At each mention of the Inquisitor, a pang shot through his being. If an unknown elf or archer was sighted, his heart skipped a beat in anticipation. He subtly prodded his spies for more information. When in the Fade or visiting ancient elvish ruins, he quietly hoped to see her familiar face. At night, she consumed his dreams.

And yet… _The mission_.

The mission must come first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I have seen a few translations of this. My favorite is “Sorry means nothing. Your love means nothing.” Source: http://geeky-jez.tumblr.com/post/104976049223/im-sorry-i-ask-you-so-many-questions-haha-but


End file.
